I think the tense gets a little wonky in this one, so apologies for that. I haven't had the inspiration to write anything (especially Screams, my longer in-progress fic) for a while, until I came across a tumblr post articulating "What HaymitchxKatniss fics are composed of" and felt challenged to break the mold a little bit. Thus, if you're out there in fanfictiondotnetland… oreohunterrr, this one's for you.

RANT: ...also, what's up with being able to add like 20 characters to your stories? NOW ITS SO HARD TO FIND HAYNISS ON THIS SITE :( womp. show me solidarity be reviewing when you're done, eh? ;)

DISCLAIMERS: oh yeah, and smutwarning. also I don't own anything that you might recognize as part of a franchise. I'm not that cool.


"Okay," Haymitch began, shutting the door behind him and Katniss and settling down into a luxurious white chair.

They were about to start the final portion of Katniss's training before the Games: The interview training. So far, Katniss had been producing phenomenally, if not a bit too phenomenally. Haymitch was worried about her, not just because she seemed to have a hard time with saying the right, "polite" thing on the spot, but also because he was feeling nervous about all of the attention she had garnered so far. Luckily her stunt with the apple during her final skills test hadn't been televised, or he'd surely have something big and terrible on his hands.

See, the thing with Katniss was, she was a fighter. She was someone who could calculate truths that most people would ignore for politeness' sake, who knew how to survive. She was one of the first rays of hope Haymitch had received in Tribute form over the past twenty-some years. She could win, he knew it. And that scared him. Because she was Katniss... Never playing by the rules, always acting against the Capitol... in fact, her entire existence was in spite of the Capitol. If she was to survive these Games, she could only mean trouble. It scared him, the way she showed rebellion in every ounce of her being. It reminded him of himself at a young age. He knew that, if Katniss kept this up, if she didn't conciliate for the Capitol, everyone she'd fought so fiercely to protect could be gone in an instant, just like his had. Yes, she was a ticking time bomb. But Haymitch guessed that was what he liked about her, too.

Haymitch had stopped his line of conversation when Katniss continued to stand awkwardly by the door. Haymitch motioned to the chair across from him. She sat, not bothering to uncross her arms. "So," he finally continued. "How this works is, we need to pitch your personality to the crowd during this interview. Make them-"

"Make them like you, I know, you've been telling me that from the drunken minute you saw me."

"Exactly, sweetheart. See," he continued, eyeing her up exaggeratedly, "the thing with you is, I have nothing to pitch." That was better than saying he couldn't pitch rebellion, right? His drawling words filled the space between them. Katniss's posture changed from slumped to rigid.

"Are you telling me I don't have a personality?" she spoke coldly, slowly placing her hands on the armrests of her chair and gripping them, hard. Haymitch did not miss the white-knuckled response, and he smirked.

"Oh, you have a personality, all right," he responded, "Just not one the crowd wants to see."

Katniss pitched forward, spitting, "Who cares what they think? I'm not here to please them."

"Oh contraire, my little flame, you care what they think. When you're in that arena, those people you could care less about will be your sponsors, and if it gets down to it, they will be your damn line to life. Then you'll care. A good show is all they want, and if they like you, they'll pay to see you stick around for a few more episodes, do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Katniss sat back heavily in her seat, brooding.

"Good. So, in order to... discover something that may work for us, we'll play a little game. I'll say a word... a personality type, if you will... and you act it with all you've got," Haymitch explained. She wasn't responding, had simply crossed her arms again, so Haymitch prompted her with, "Impress me, sweetheart."

"Fine. So what's the first one?" she asked.

"Ahh, I ask the questions, you respond," Haymitch instructed. "And by the way, sexy." He knew that'd start her up, but he couldn't help himself.

"What?!" Katniss demanded.

"The first personality," Haymitch shrugged his shoulders in innocence.

Katniss clicked her tongue at him, looking away.

"So, Katniss," Haymitch tried to adopt a Capitol-esque accent, "how do you like the Capitol so far?"

"I hate it," Katniss deadpanned. A look from Haymitch made her continue, revising her previous statement. "There are so many people here... People I could take to the slag heaps..."

Haymitch was annoyed. He should've expected this from her, but that didn't make him any less pissed off.

"I said sexy, not sex addict!" He let out a loud sigh. Of course she'd be far too stubborn to take this seriously. "Next one, Career."

Katniss set back in her seat, bracing herself for the question.

"You volunteering for your sister was so very brave," yes, Haymitch was changing the question each time, and he could tell it was stressing Katniss out, but, goddamnit, he had to prepare her. "Why'd you do it?"

Katniss blinked. "I like to kill people," she said.

"No!" Haymitch cut her off, "You can't say things like that in front of a Capitol audience!" He was practically bellowing. This is exactly what she couldn't act like! Why did she always have to be so belligerent? "Cunning!" He spit out another. "How did you feel when you stepped onto the train for the first time?"

"I felt like I was going to vomit!"

"No!" Haymitch was at full-volume now, barely even listening to her as he pushed himself to a standing position, towering over his sitting

Tribute. "Give me something to fucking work with, sweetheart!"

"You keep asking me different questions!" Katniss screamed back, standing now, too, keeping her ground. "How am I supposed to keep up?!"

"That's how it's going to be, you stupid girl, you don't know what they're going to ask you, you have to be prepared for anything!"

"Why can't I just be myself?!" She fucking shouts at him, taking a pace closer to argue her point.

"Because you're too damn...!" but he doesn't finish his sentence, just looks away, hand in his hair, and lets out an exasperated growl.

"What! What am I, Haymitch? Tell me what I am!"

Haymitch doesn't respond. He couldn't tell her, could he? Instead, he just stands there, looking at Katniss with an odd expression on his face.

"What!" She shouted again.

"You've got too much spark," he finally admitted, using some half-truth and looking back at Katniss with some strange expression in his eyes.

Katniss took a breath, probably trying to figure out if 'spark' was good or bad before demanding, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means... It means," Haymitch cleared his throat, hovering close to Katniss; Katniss, who was half-flushed from their fight, Katniss, who always said the wrong thing, Katniss, the spark. Why couldn't he speak? "It... means..." his eyes flicked over her. "Ah, fuck it all," he muttered, stepping toward Katniss and closing the space between them, guiding his hand through her hair and behind her head, to tilt her lips up to his. It took a few seconds for Katniss to pull away, and with a jolt.

She looked at him, shocked, arms out as if they, too, were questioning his actions.

He simply looked at her, not apologetic in the slightest, but still somehow looking unsure of himself.

That's when she went back in for the kiss, grabbing Haymitch by the back of the head, right where the bottom hairs attached to his scalp, and yanked him into her, allowing for his arms to crush her against his body. Haymitch didn't know if this was real or if Katniss was just feeling desperate and freaked out as the start of the Games drew closer, but he decided that he didn't care. He pulled Katniss closer and drew his tongue across her bottom lip, prompting her to open her mouth to him. She did, and he held her closer as he entered her mouth, their tongues suddenly doing an electric slide as his hands moved to her lower back. Resting on the small, he pulled her hips tight to his as she remained adamant about their mouths battling against each other. Haymitch nipped at her lip, causing her breath to hitch, and it was then that Haymitch realized what might happen if they didn't stop soon.

Pushed to him, Katniss definitely felt the tent in his pants as it made its appearance, but she wasn't backing away. She was pushing forward, grinding herself against him, and Haymitch took a step backward, unsure of just how far she'd ever gotten before, to use as a judge for how far she'd want to go now. He didn't want to set himself up for failure, had to keep his excitement in check, all that. So he pulled back to get a good look at her face. Her eyes were dilated and she still had one hand clawing at his back, the other tangled in his hair. Haymitch didn't think he'd ever seen anything more sexy. If only I could get this Katniss onstage, he thought briefly. The interviews'd be a breeze, then. Regardless, Haymitch leaned back into the kiss. He did it softly, politely. Katniss returned it hard and fast at first, before slowing to match his pace. It was she that pulled back the second time, trying to judge his slowing pace, maybe. Her face flashed an indecipherable expression before her lips reattached to his, fiery as she should be, and pushing him backwards. Haymitch couldn't know what was going on in that head of hers no matter how hard he tried, so he simply paced backwards with her until his shins hit up against something. The chair. He felt her hands on his shoulders, and following her prompting, he sunk into the chair he had inhabited during their brief try at an interview and pulled her down with him. She indulged him for a moment before pulling her mouth away from his, straightening up, and straddling his legs, sinking down onto him with a smirk on her face.

"Sexy yet?" she asked him, sounding as if she didn't care for an answer.

"Oh, very," Haymitch was surprised at the husky quality his voice had taken on since he'd last used it. Maybe that has something to do with Katniss on his lap, pressing against his erection. His hands immediately went to her hips, grabbing, moving the fabric of her shirt up so he could touch her skin. It was so soft, just like... No. He couldn't remember. So he pulled Katniss down to smash his lips onto hers, their teeth clinking before his tongue thrust into her mouth. Her hands found their way to his hips, too, and she leaned herself closer, her butt arching back into his cock. Haymitch was practically shaking. He took the liberty to pull her closer to his body, away from the dangers of making him come fully clothed, and instead got a good grip on her shirt and yanked it up and over her head. She was bare to him so suddenly, and didn't seem to mind, so Haymitch took the moment to put his lips to her very-near breast. Her hands continued to run over his chest like a nervous tick, a sexy nervous tick, and after a minute or so of his indulgences Katniss's fingers started working at the buttons of his shirt. He was still wearing his sport coat and button down, but Katniss didn't seem to care all that much about de-layering. He let her open his shirt, push the fabric aside, and run her hands up and down his curly-haired chest. And then down, and over his manhood.

Katniss might not've cared about de-layering, but Haymitch did. His hands moved down to her waistband, and, finding no contraptions to open, slid his hands beneath two layers of fabric and pushed. Katniss arched into his palms, and Haymitch had to stop himself from getting too damn excited again. Having someone react to him like this, emotionally real or not, really made him feel invincible. Made him feel like staying around. Made him feel like fiercely protecting the thing that made him feel like this.

And then she was naked, completely naked on top of him. Haymitch didn't take time to look because he'd seen it all before, but this time he didn't have to hide the tent in his pants during the viewing. And this wasn't so much a viewing as a full, hands-on experience.

She'd slid farther back on his legs now, so his cock was in front of her instead of behind. He moved his hands to her bottom, glorifying the moment with feeling and touching before moving her up to him, inwardly cheering when her hands moved to his belt. His black trousers were off in a flash and… there they were. His hands on her hips, hers on his shoulders in preparation.

"You okay with this?" he muttered. He wasn't the kind to go ahead without permission, even if he wanted to. He still had some semblance of respectability beneath his reputation.

"Obviously," she sounded annoyed as she raised herself up from her knees. Such was their relationship, Haymitch thought to himself as she lowered onto his cock.

He tried to gauge whether this was her first time, but she was making it hard for him to concentrate on anything other than her movement, her braid bouncing off her shoulder, her hands pulling at his neck as they crashed into each other, finding a rhythm, her pace - their pace - grew faster, steadier. He let his hands find her nub, teasing her some more, so she could have at least a chance of coming as soon as he was going to. She was breathing heavily, he could tell she was getting close as her walls began to tighten, and then… Then she did it. He couldn't fathom it, didn't want to believe it, but she was doing it, she did it - she breathed out his name. And he knew she wasn't there yet but he exploded, he had to, there was no way he could not. Not with her saying - no, breathing - his name like that. Haymitch...

He collapsed back onto the chair, but she was still thumping away at him, trying to get her orgasm, so he lifted a hand to her nub again, swirling it between his fingers and hoping desperately that she'd finish before he got another hard-on.

He tried not to look at her, he really did, but one glance up at her and he could feel his hardness growing inside of her. What was wrong with him?

"Really?" she glanced down at him. She tried to glare, he just knew it, but with her flushed cheeks and chest, her hands braced on his pudgy abdomen, Haymitch couldn't help but get a hard-on again.

"Anything for you, sweetheart," he gritted out between breaths. She continued to try it her way, but nothing was seemingly coming of it. Haymitch growled, deciding to take matters into his own hands. He pulled her head down to him, fiercely going at her lips while he gripped an arm of the chair with the other hand and lifted himself off the seat, taking her with him. His eyes were open so he could watch when hers did the same, flew open, clearly stating the "what the hell" she would've had her mouth not been otherwise preoccupied. Haymitch took this moment to wrap his arms around her and flip her into the seat he was just sitting in, her position more mirroring lounging, before he pulled one of her ankles over his shoulder as he stood, creating a better angle, flipping the bar of the chair that made it raise as he did so.

It was his turn to do the dirty work now, and he was determined not to come before her... again. He briefly wondered if dirty talk was something she was into, but decided he'd rather not talk right now. His feet flat on the floor and his jackets flopping around him still, Haymitch took hold of Katniss gave her a series of thrusts, meaningful ones, feeling himself about to come undone he looked down at her. Her head was kicked back, exposing the entire length of her neck, all the way down to her exposed breasts, and suddenly Haymitch forgot entirely about self-control. He tightened his grip, forcing himself deeper for his final thrust, before coming deep within her. This time he could feel Katniss's walls shaking, about to bust out, and he rubbed her immediately, desperately, "c'mon, come for me, c'mon Katniss..."

Thank goodness she did, or he would've been really embarrassed.

Katniss was left panting on the oversized chair, de-clothed and tired out. Haymitch couldn't help but stare, transfixed, before he leaned over her and whispered into her ear, "It means trouble."

She didn't even look up at him. "What does?" Her voice sounds almost dead, and it makes something in Haymitch curl up in hurt, but he answers her.

"Your spark." He pulls away from her then, standing up and snatching his pants up with him, quietly redressing as she remains on the chair.

Eventually he turns away and begins to button his shirt, finds his shoes to slip on, and that's when he hears her rustle with movement. He looks over and sees her peering over the arm of the raised chair.

"Call me sweetheart one more time?" she asks, voice almost breaking.

He stops his buttoning and his shuffling, and hell, maybe even his breathing before he turns and makes the few step over to the chair. He looks down into her face, and reaches out a hand to smooth the stray hairs back out of her face.

"Always, sweetheart," he says, before turning to leave.

Just as he makes it to the door, he pauses.

"Honest," he says.

"What?" Her voice cracks.

"It's how you'll get people to like you."

He closes the door behind him.